


Your Choice of Companion

by apliddell



Series: Irrational and Sentimental [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: John POV, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, POV First Person, Post Mary, Wedding, sherlock POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 05:08:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5615029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the big day, isn't it? The wedding!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You’re smiling again,” I’m trying to moderate my own smile. John’s beaming at my reflection, which makes it rather difficult. There are five minutes left until our wedding ceremony begins. John and I are in the dressing room, preening and waiting for it to start, and I cannot compose my features.

“I’m going to be smiling for a long time, gorgeous,” John is so bright and joyful, I can scarcely look at him. Keep ducking my head.

My smile grows. My cheeks are beginning to ache. Ah well, nothing for it, “Keep that up, and you’ll have me giggling at the altar.”

John kisses me. “I think we both know you’ll actually be crying at the altar.”

“Me?! You’re the romantic one, John Watson! And the weeper, if you recall,” tap John on the chest.

He catches my finger, “You’re the one who teared up last week when I said we only had a hundred and seventy two hours and sixteen minutes left til we were married.”

“I wasn’t crying! The sun was in my eyes!”

John laughs and kisses me, “That’s what you said then.”

“It’s still true.”

John pats his breast pocket where a little corner of cream silk pocket square peeks out, “Lucky you, I’ve got this to soak you up when you start going all soggy.”  
I pat his pocket as well, “You want to keep that for yourself, I think. You go to absolute pieces whenever I say anything nice about you, and it does happen to be our wedding day. I’ll probably be inspired to a certain amount of personal warmth.”

John laughs, “You do have a gift for pretty speeches, my love. You should publish a book of romantic poetry.”

“John!”

“It would sell very well.”

Whirl away from him and fold my arms, “Never mind, I don’t want to marry you anymore.”

John catches me round the waist and kisses my cheek, my jaw, my neck (tingles!), “Liar.”

I hum and lean back into him, “I make ugly, unromantic, strident speeches.”

“Mm,” John nuzzles my ear (shiver).

I shut my eyes, “Say it, John.”

“I love the way you talk to me and about me. And if you did publish an ugly, strident, unromantic book of poetry, I would read it every day.” John drags his nose down my throat, and kisses me just above the collar.

I drape an arm over John’s shoulder for support and try not to moan, “All right, wedding’s back on.”

John strokes my hip and hums a little laugh, “Someone’s thinking of how he wants to hurry and get to the sex holiday.”

“The honeymoon. That’s your fault.”

“I accept the blame, my love.”

“And there has to be dancing first. And cake. But mainly dancing.”

John kisses me, “Don’t you think I’m going to dance with you on our honeymoon?”

“Of course you are, John. But I want to dance a waltz with my shiny new husband on my wedding night in a serviceable approximation of a ballroom. Call it a longstanding fantasy.”

John reaches up and clasps the hand of the arm I’ve got slung round his shoulder, “Me too, actually. But I don’t know how shiny I am. I suppose I could probably do with a bit of polishing up for shininess.”

I squeeze John’s hand, “John the only thing you want to make you the tiniest crumb more perfect is to be my husband. You’ve been perfect since I met you, and this is the only possible upgrade. In every other area, you are beyond ideal.”

“Only I could be a bit more married to Sherlock, eh?”

“Just a bit more, John. You’re already quite married to Sherlock even if you aren’t quite married to Sherlock.”

John laughs, “There, you see? How could I not want to read your book of poetry?”

“Hmph. As such a thing is unlikely ever to exist, you’re going to have to settle for getting married instead.”

“Mmm,” John kisses my earlobe, “You’d write me poetry if I asked for it, wouldn’t you, lovely?”

“Oh, I’m sure you could extract from me anything you desired. You bully me horribly. That’s why I’ve got to marry you. To neutralise you.”

John laughs, “Good luck with that.”

“Bully.”

“Brat,” John grazes my earlobe with his teeth, and I press myself to him to muffle a shiver.

“Mmmyourfault, John. You spoil me horribly as well. You’re multi-talented.”

There’s a tap at the door before John can answer, “I’m not coming in,” Janine calls through it, “but I’ve been sent in my office as best man to tell you everyone’s seated and ready for your dramatic entrance.”

“Thanks Janine,” John calls back. “We’ll be right out.” We both listen for her retreating footsteps to fade away. I grasp John to steady me in case this giddy buoyancy rising in my chest sends me bobbing right up to the ceiling like an errant balloon. John squeezes back, “Right.” He draws a deep breath, “Ready?”

“Of course I’m ready, John. You’ve just seen me readying.”

John smooths my shoulders and adjusts my boutonniere, “Don’t think about the others. Just look at me and listen to the officiant. Repeat it back just how she tells you, and it’ll be over before you know it.”

“Yes, I remember from the rehearsal.”

“It’s all fine. It’s going to be just fine, lovely. Are you nervous?”

Lean down and kiss John’s nose, “You are nervous, John.”

John heaves a breath that turns into a giggle, “I’m about to blub in front of everyone we know.”

I squeeze his hand and nuzzle his cheek, “Yes, well you always were. It’s your fate. And at least you’ll be in good company.”

“My fate, eh?” John laughs and kisses me, “Very good company. I’ll come quietly. All right, my very near future husband. Here we go.”

…

 

As Sherlock said, I’d been a goner since the day I was born, but I didn’t actually well up until the officiant asked us to join hands. I blinked hard, resisting the urge to brush at my eyes, and Sherlock smiled tenderly as he took my hands in his.

The officiant smiled too, “Sherlock, please repeat after me, ‘I, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, know of no reason why I may not lawfully be wed to John Hamish Watson.’”

Sherlock stroked my palm with his thumb, “I William Sherlock Scott Holmes know of no reason why I may not lawfully be wed to John Hamish Watson,” he declared, his voice steady, though gentle and low.

“And John, if you would repeat after me, ‘I, John Hamish Watson, know of no reason why I may not lawfully be wed to William Sherlock Scott Holmes.’”

I cleared my throat, but my answer came as a rasp, “I, John Hamish Watson, know of no reason why I may not lawfully be wed to William Sherlock Scott Holmes.”

“Lovely,” the officiant murmured, “Now the solemn moment has come for John and Sherlock to contract their marriage before their assembled witnesses. Family and friends of the couple, please stand and join together for the celebration of their marriage.” She paused and there was gentle shuffling behind us as our guests complied, “Sherlock, will you take John to be your wedded husband, with whom you share your life? Will you promise to love, support, and comfort him whatever the future may bring?”

Sherlock’s eyes filled as she spoke and spilled over when he answered softly, “I will.”

She looked at me, “John, will you take Sherlock to be your wedded husband, with whom you share your life? Will you promise to love, support, and comfort him whatever the future may bring?”

I opened my mouth, but my eyes stung and ran, and my words seemed to stick in my throat. I sniffed hard and took a deep breath. Sherlock pulled my handkerchief out of my pocket and dabbed my face, then kissed my cheek and stroked my shoulder. I nodded, and he kissed me again, then tucked away the handkerchief and took my hand. I cleared my throat, “Yes. I will.”

The officiant pulled the rings out of her breast pocket and held them up, “John and Sherlock will now exchange rings as a symbol of the constancy of friendship, care, and respect between them.” I took Sherlock’s ring and put it on him, then he did the same for me, beaming serene and vibrant joy like I’d never seen before. “John and Sherlock, because you have made the declarations prescribed by law in the presence of your witnesses, I have the honour to announce that you are now married. You may seal your vows with a kiss.” Our guests burst into applause, but I barely noticed. Sherlock pulled me closer to him, and at first we could barely kiss each other properly for smiling. Under

Sherlock’s mouth, my grins turned to giggles, which set him off, too.

“Shhh, Sherlock,” I whispered through my laughter, “we can’t giggle; it’s our wedding! Solemn occasion.”

“We can and we should,” Sherlock kissed my chin and my mouth, then hugged me very tightly, “the solemn bit is over now. We’ve done it. We’re married!”


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft was first through the receiving line.

“Shouldn’t you be up here with us?” John offers, “You planned the whole wedding, so you’re the host, aren’t you? There’s room, I think. On the other side of your parents, maybe.”

“Heavens no,” Mycroft says as he shakes first me and then John by the hand. “If I were up there, people might mistake it for an invitation to embrace,” Mycroft shudders theatrically.

“Mycroft hasn’t hugged anyone since 1998, and he reckons that incident was the queen’s fault,” I tell John behind my hand, bouncing an eyebrow at Mycroft as I speak.

“Thank you, Sherlock,” Mycroft smiles rather thinly.

“Don’t let him convince you he never goes soppy, boys,” Mum says, “He got a little teary during the vows, didn’t you, Mykie?”

Dad laughs fondly and pats Mycroft on the shoulder, “So did I. It was an epidemic!”

Mycroft clears his throat, “My warmest congratulations to you both,” he pats my elbow once, then steps aside to allow Mum and Dad to kiss him. Dad immediately buries Mycroft in questions about seasonal floral arrangements, which seems to set him at ease (good old Dad). The rest of the line goes by in rather a blur of hugs and handshakes and other people’s perfume. John keeps right at my elbow, darting proud little glances at me and stroking my arm or my back whenever he has the chance.

The last person through the line is Major Sholto. He’s dressed in a smart blue suit this time (though--like my John--even without the uniform, he’ll never shake that soldier’s carriage), and despite my carefully studied optimism about his attendance, I’m surprised at how eager and relaxed he seems.

John grins and nudges me as the major steps forward, “Look who it is, Sherlock!”

“With bells on, as promised,” I answer, offering the major a handshake. “Welcome, Major Sholto.”

Major Sholto takes my hand and opens his mouth to reply, but he’s interrupted by Mycroft who has reappeared as if from nowhere, “Ah, James! Major Sholto. I missed you in the ceremony; glad to see you’re here. I hope your accommodations were all satisfactory.”

Major Sholto turns to Mycroft and smiles, “Everything is lovely, thank you, Mycroft. I slipped in at the back, just before the processional. And James, please. Set a good example for the happy couple here. That’s the trouble with being a reclusive old grump, I suppose. Everyone is always so damned formal with me.”

John glances at me, grinning hugely, his eyebrows raised nearly into his hairline, “You and Mycroft know each other, M-James?”

Mycroft makes a little cough, “I got in touch with James after the invitations went out to assure him that there would be no unpleasant recurrences, and to see if there was anything I could do--with regard to security--to make his attendance more convenient and comfortable. Considering.”

“Yes, Mycroft has been extremely accommodating.” James looks at John, “Though of course I had always planned to come.”

“Extremely accommodating,” I repeat. Mycroft is refusing to meet my eye, “That does sound like my brother. And you’ve hit it off. How wonderful.”

Mycroft begins to demur, but James says, “Yes, you could say that. Nothing like a new friend.”

John looks at me again, his smile growing til it could nearly crack his face in half, “Nothing in the world like a new friend, eh Sherlock?”

“Absolutely nothing in the world like a new friend, John.”

John sweeps his hand up my back to clasp my neck, then leans up and kisses me on the cheek. I swallow a giggle, and though I am not looking at him, I have a younger brother’s sense of Mycroft rolling his eyes. I clear my throat, “Well husband, we seem to have inadvertently barked our shins on a sensitive subject. Shall we go and avail ourselves of some of those vol au vent you’ve been eyeing wistfully every time they’ve passed us?”

John tucks his arm through mine, “You’ve read my mind, husband.”

“I know how you feel about feeding me up, John.”

“Essential. Got to keep that strength up. Come along then my love,” John begins to draw me after him, “Thank you for coming, James. Mycroft. Thank you.” He nods to them in turn, “Have a lovely evening.”

“They seem to have been preparing for that, even before we came along to encourage them, John.”

“Don’t mind him,” Mycroft says in a stage whisper as John and I sweep off. “He imagines he’s clever.”

“Well he is a bit,” James answers warmly, “I’m fairly well prepared to have a lovely evening.”

...

 

“Hello boys! Men. Gentlemen. Doctor and Mister Watson.”

“She’s completely pissed,” John remarks fondly.

“Open bar, doc! It’s my duty as best man,” Janine gestures to her corsage. “Social lubricant and that. Your sister is a complete scream by the way, John.”

“Yeah, she’s always telling me,” John glances over at Janine’s table, where Harry is telling a very animated story to Sally and Finn and Kaite (Mrs Turner-Next-Door’s married ones)(Greg and Molly are lingering over the punchbowl together).

“Anyway, I came over for a photo with the happy couple,” Janine steps onto the platform that elevates our table and goes on one knee between our chairs. “I’m thinking of going into matchmaking, and I want a selfie with my first success story.”

“You didn’t set us up,” John laughs, leaning in nonetheless.

“The hell I didn’t,” Janine puts one arm about my shoulders and lays her head against John’s. “Going out with this one was hard work, and all I got out of it was a really nice aubergine shirt.”

"I want that back, by the way."

"No chance."

“And you invented a completely lurid fiction about our nonexistent romantic life, and sold it to a tabloid for quite a bit, if the Instagram photos of your Sussex Downs cottage are anything to go by. Besides we weren’t actually going out.”

“Of course we weren’t,” Janine snaps the photo, “If I’d thought I was really dating you, it definitely wouldn’t have counted as matchmaking.”

“Are you going to pretend to date all your clients?” John asks.

“I haven’t decided yet, “Janine coquettes for the camera and takes another photo. “You can consult with me, Sherl. You’re good at spotting lonely sadsacks.”

“Mm thank you, how flattering. You can put that in the masthead on your website.”

“Am I the lonely sadsack in this story?” John leans back from Janine to catch eyes with me, and I laugh.

“No, Sherlock here was trying to fix me up the first time we met, and I thought it was so sweet of him, I’d return the favour,” Janine says. “And now here we are at my victory dinner.”

“My husband is such a romantic,” John leans past Janine and kisses my cheek.

Janine snaps another photo, “Thanks! That’ll be brilliant for the website!”`


	3. Chapter 3

Good evening, everyone. Firstly on behalf of Sherlock and me, I really have to thank Mycroft for all he’s done for us in the months and weeks leading up to tonight. The details are for the most part down to him, and we’re very grateful to him for making this beautiful night possible. Cheers, Mycroft. Obviously it’s not about me alone, ha, but it’s been such a brilliant welcome to the family. Thank you; I’m really very moved.

Right erm. Well. Hello.Thank you for coming to our wedding and for all minding your ps and qs. No murderers about so far as we can tell, and we're glad of that for once. Ha. Erm. Well. Since I proposed to this one, I've been gloating about how I'm going to pay him back for a speech he made about me a few years back that reduced us all to tears. But as the time approached, I started to realise I'd tooted my own horn a bit prematurely maybe. I'm, ah. I'm not good with this sort of thing. I'm crap at this stuff, actually. But. Here's my chance to say some things I've always wanted to say, and I'm taking it. I'm fairly good at complimenting Sherlock, or at least I can pretty reliably get him to go all pink and blinky, so if I get lost, I'll just fall back on that. And I know my favourite member of my audience is always ready to be generous with me.

I don't think I have to tell you all what a marvel Sherlock Holmes is. Looking around this room, I know a lot of us wouldn't be where we are without him. Every person here knows for a fact that Sherlock is a great man. A truly great man. My personal hero, in fact. It doesn't need reminding. He's brave and clever and selfless and good. He's got integrity coming out of his ears and a silhouette like a storybook hero, hasn't he? He saves lives. He fixes problems. He catches criminals. And he might try and tell you that it's because he's a puzzle solver or that he loves to show off. Don't believe him, because it's bollocks. What he loves is to help people. He loves to put things right. He loves to sort out injustices. Sherlock does what he does because he wants to make the world better. So yeah, obviously, Sherlock is as clever as it gets. He's as brave as it gets. But he's as kind as it gets as well.

Over the years, I've spent a lot of my time trying to show the world Sherlock as I see him. His kindness, his softness, his stunning gentleness. His romance and tenderness and sweetness. Praise and embarrass, right love? Well, you know Sherlock has saved my life. Countless times. Probably more times than I even know. He plays that sort of thing close to the chest. Modest, you know. But it isn't just that he clevers our way out of whatever peril we're chasing down this week. He saved my life the first time he set eyes on me. The first time we spoke. Because he was kind to me. He saw me. He really looked at me. He noticed me. He just scooped me out of the shadows and pulled me into the light. He saw what I needed and gave it to me at once.

Sherlock made me see that I wasn't as helpless and hopeless as I'd been feeling. He made me see that I wasn't going to be always the man who doesn't fit. Sherlock looked at me and saw me and made a place in the world for me. And then he helped me to find it. When I found Sherlock, it was like I found myself. It was like I woke up. It was like I was. Born. I was alive and breathing and seeing and fighting again. Sherlock erm. Had a very adept way of putting it once. The thrill of the chase. The blood pumping in your veins.

The two of us against the rest of the world. Ahhh. Hem. Excuse me. Sorry. Ahm.  
Sherlock gave me back to me. He makes me more myself every day. I don't even have the words to express what a privilege it is that I'm going to spend the rest of my life at his side. We're all in this room today, in the big obvious way and in so many more tiny ways because of Sherlock. And I can't believe my good fortune that I get to spend my life thanking him and loving him and paying him back. Today marks the beginning of a life I've wanted for years. It's here now, love. We have it. We have each other. We made it. My friends, thank you all for being here to start it off with us. Please stand and raise your glasses to join me in toasting my best friend, my partner, my hero, my heart, my husband, my home. To the best man I know, to Sherlock Holmes.

...

“So my dearest love, how have you enjoyed our wedding day?” Sherlock had gone rather boneless in my arms, but he was still light enough on his feet that I hardly had to think about my lazy box step.

“I could live in it, John,” Sherlock dipped his head to warm my ear with his answer, “I could make a universe of this night.”

“It is sort of cosmologically perfect,” I agreed. Our guests had thinned a bit, but nearly everyone who remained was dancing. The cocktail of candlelight, music, and affection had proved quite an intoxicant, and you could nearly see the rosy haze hanging in the room. “But I don’t think I’d stay forever.”

“No?” Sherlock nosed my hair.

I tightened my arm round Sherlock’s waist, “I’m interested to see what you’ll do next, actually. What we’ll do next.”

“Ah of course,” Sherlock stroked my back. “Got any theories, husband?”

“We’ll be very handsome and clever, of course. So sharp we could cut ourselves.”

Sherlock laughed, “Of course. What else?”

“You’ll call me ‘husband’ half a dozen times in every sentence, and I’ll grin like a fool every time.”

“Do,” said Sherlock. “It suits you very much.”

I laughed, “We’ll solve lots of cases and catch baddies and impress everyone.”

“Mm naturally. I can’t wait to get snooping with you again, John.”

“After the honeymoon,” I said rather sternly and squeezed Sherlock’s hip.

Sherlock laughed low in my ear, “I expect you have predictions about that as well, John.”

“About the honeymoon?” I squeezed his hip again, “Predictions, if you like. Plans, hopes, a bit of specialised equipment. Fantasies, you might say.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock kissed my neck, “I do love it when I have the opportunity to admire your imagination, John.”

I laughed, “Sometimes you make me sound like the most awful old pervert.”

“I know you know a compliment when you hear one, John. Anyway, I consider your perversions to be hugely to my advantage.”

“Ha, yeah. Hugely. I do my best.”

“Your predictions do sound like a very attractive future, John. Perhaps I can be convinced to expand my universe a bit.”

“Well, you know I’m pleased to hear that, my love, but I haven’t even finished predicting yet,” I kissed Sherlock’s cheek.

“Go on, then, John. Tell me my future.”

I kissed him, “You’ll spend another ten minutes here, dancing with your shiny new husband and then you and I’ll drift about and say fond, soggy things to the guests that are still here. Then I’ll whisk you back to our hotel room, and we’ll have a hot bath and some sleepy orgasms and maybe one last glass of champagne. And I’ll hold you close to me, and you’ll fall asleep with your hair tickling my nose and snore on my chest. And then we’ll wake up in the morning and go and be married to one another for the rest of our lives.”

Sherlock sighed and laid his head on my shoulder, “Yes, I like that plan even better than mine, John. Let’s do it your way.”

“All right then, my love.” I stroked up his back and clasped the back of his neck, “You and me, Sherlock. The two of us always.”

"Me and you, John," he kissed me. "So long as we both shall live."


End file.
